


The Alchemor's Database

by PaperHatCollection



Category: Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015), transformers rid 2015
Genre: Alchemor (transformers), Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:24:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperHatCollection/pseuds/PaperHatCollection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hidden inside the Alchemor's vast databases is a record of what each criminal did to deserve their stay aboard the prison ship. Short chapters. (updated chapters one and two)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hammerstrike

**Hammerstrike**

_Sharkticons live in highly viscous, fluid environments, swim at high speeds, and have multiple rows of sharp teeth._

* * *

 

 

Cybertronian seas, which covered a relatively small portion of the planet compared to its landmasses, were commonly made from things such as rust, oil, and  even energon in rare cases. Water was impossible to find on Cybertron, but not because it had never existed on the planet before. Rather H2O had become bonded with another element unique to Cybertron, causing it to behave and resemble another substance entirely. This substance was darkly colored and thicker then normal water, leading many to confuse it with a type of oil at first glance. Unlike oil this substance was polar, and underwent a unique cycle of evaporation and precipitation. 

It was within this type of liquid that the most  dangerous sea creatures Cybertron saw developed. Everything that lived within the Emulsion Sea seemed to be designed purely for fighting and destroying other creatures. Few were even capable of speech, and most leaned heavily on instincts rather then intelligent thought. These were some of the few creatures classified as purely 'animals' on Cybertron and incapable of higher learning. It was such that the few species that could think and reason beyond hunting and surviving were often overlooked or stereotyped as being simple minded, creating a hatred of land dwellers among these particular species.

One such species were the Sharkticons, who often swam in the depths of their oceans and hunted every other creature that dared to come near. Yet despite their brutal nature most were more then capable of reasoning and forethought, they simply didn't care. Usually, that is to say. For there was one particular Sharkticon named Hammerstrike, who was strongest within his Shiver and by far the most cunning. 

Hammerstrike had one goal in life, and that was to take over the seas of Cybertron. He was merciless to land dwellers that dared to sail above his waters, at first killing them out of spite but soon discovered the treasures he could gain from these voyageurs. He quickly became the most well known and feared pirate in all of Cybertrons varies seas, gaining a league of followers to obey his every command, ships now sailing on high alert for him and only traveling near his seas if they absolutely had to. 

And it was on the night that both of Cybertrons twin moons lay full in the sky that they had to do just that.

Only a small portion of the moonlight made it past the seas murky surface, but that which did lay trapped under the waves, hiding anything that could be moving, unless of course your optics had long since adapted to the sea. It was here Hammerstrike watched the ships sail slowly above him, planning the perfect moment to strike. The center and largest ship was carrying a shipment of energon, and possibly other valuable loot, while the three smaller ships around it acted as guardians. But to take one of them out first would alert the other two of his presence. He would have to get them closer together or lower their guard briefly before he could deal with them. 

He huffed and swam further ahead to where pointed chucks of metallic material jutted from the liquid depths, throwing his body against the tops and breaking them easily. Now hidden, one of the land dwellers would foolishly try to guide their boats over this spot and sink to the water depths. He quickly hid nearby, laying near motionless in wait as the boats drew near his trap.

It was a guard boat that made the fatal mistake, rushing ahead to make sure the way was safe and only tearing their boats apart from underneath. As water filled into their ship the other two guard boats rushed to the first's aid, and it was then that Hammerstrike made his first move.

His sharp fins easily cut through the boats weak material as he shot through both in one single attack, breaking them and half and sending the guards into the depths. They tried to claw their ways back up, the thick liquid dragging them down.  Although,  they did not get the  luxury  of falling far enough that the pressure crushed them to death. Instead they were torn limp from limp and piston from crankshaft by his followers, the sea filling with their energon.

He never received his chance to partake in their destruction, guards on the main ship firing weapons at him the second their weak minds figured out what was happening. He easily swam  underneath  the boat, weighing his options. There were so many, many ways he could bring down this ship, especially depending on how he wanted the bots on board to die. 

He decided on the classic method, aiming himself at the boat and swimming at its hull at full speed. He easily broke through the weak metal, shooting himself inside as the boat suddenly tilted violently, the room he was in filling with liquid quickly. It appeared to be the engine for the ship, the bots maintaining its well being panicking and abandoning their stations at the sight of him. As they should, the cowards.

He directed his attention to the engine, tearing it apart with his claws. Alarms followed his assault, the entire ship shuttering. For the first time he considered  whether or not any of these boats were sentient, but he didn't care one way or another. They would perish with the rest of the land dwellers if they were.

Guards finally came to confront him, Hammerstike simply laughing at the idea they could bring him down. He charged the attackers, jumping into the air to strike at them.

And that was the last thing he remembered before waking on Earth.


	2. Springload

 

** Springload **

_ Human word for his mental state would be... bonkers. Do not take  Springload  lightly. Many Museum personal, historians, and law informant officers  have and paid the price. _

* * *

 

Roadhandler had joined the force several stellar cycles back to keep the streets safe from punks and dare devils that thought the road belonged to them and them alone, never truly expecting to deal with anything beyond those sort of crimes. It was quite a surprise to get moved to special forces, and the sort of bots they  dealt  with.

Things were  happening  on Cybertron. Bots were abandoning the life they'd been living since activation and some sort of resentment for  authority  was brewing within the lower classes. Even beyond that their had always been an underground network of  criminals  that had  practically  run Cybertron, he'd just never been able to see it as a civilian.

Yet this  was n't  either of those things. Springload, has he'd been told his name was, was  neither  a  criminal  mastermind nor someone rising up against the caste system. He was, plain and simply, insane. He'd already killed three bots from a nearby history  museum  by collapsing the roof in on them after they refused to entertain his delusions of Doradus, and injured ten others. Now he was on some sort of rampage, ramming into walls and statues but still doing more harm to himself at this point non the less.

Roadhandler watched Springload seemingly  arguing with himself, facing a  statue . After a moment he  recognized that Springload was trying to talk  to  said statue instead. He crept closer, optics locked on the Amphiboid in case he should  suddenly  turn or more. He knew grabbing Springload would result in sever damage to himself, and the others tongue could attack from a distance. Whether or not Springload would choose to use it was beyond guessing. 

Springload suddenly smashed into the statue in anger, cracking it. He simply bounced to another one, threatening to do the same should it stay silent. He presented a copy of the lore of Doradus from the  museum , seemingly having mistaken it for fact. Springload was far to invested into his conversation to have noticed a hoard of Buffaloids come  stampeding  through. 

Roadhandler edged closer, lifting his left servo and giving the signal. Several  other armed force members lept from hiding all aiming their weapons at the  Amphiboid. Roadhandler joined them, approaching Springload. For the most part, the crazed criminalhadn't even noticed. 

"Springload, you are under arrest," Roadhandler began, drawing his attention. "For the murder of three unarmed Cybertronians, assault of several others, severe  damage of public property, and-"

He never got to finish, ducking to the side to avoid  Springloads sudden leap, drawing his  weapon and firing at him. Springload jumped to the wall and then off again, smacking right into the statue he'd already damaged. Roadhandler recognized his plan, yelling at his unit to  _slagging move _ as the statue came crashing  down where'd they'd just been a moment before.

"Doradus is waiting for me, and I won't let YOU get in my way." Springload was going off about that lore again. "And if you insist on interfe ring , I'll just have to make sure you can never get in my way again!" Springload yelled, suddenly leaping and slamming his foot down on one of his officers. The bot yelled out briefly in pain before collapsing, Springload jumping from him straight into another bot to burn his armor. 

Roadhandler needed to act quickly. Springload was faster and more maneuverable then he had thought. It was a severe error on his part to assume that Springload would come along peacefully, doubtless he would get a lecture from Prowl for this mistake. 

He drew his secondary weapon, waiting until Springload's back was turned to rush at him, charging the electoral current within his weapon before jumping at the Amphiboid .

And that would be the last thing Springload recalled unti l he was jumping through an organic jungle, still dead set on finding Doradus.  



	3. Chop Shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen yet I rewrote the first chapter and completely redid the second for Springload rather then Clampdown.

 

 

 

** Chop Shop **

_ He's a combiner named Chop Shop, a one mech heist crew with a list of crimes as long as Alpha Trions bread. _

* * *

 

Any bot with even a shard of common sense knew it was best to stay away from scrapping district. The stories of what transpired there were enough to give even the toughest mech shivers down their protoform, let alone those that were even true.

No bot that worked in that district was clean of crime, though plenty had learned well how to hide their own. Shady deals, backhanded bribes, there was a reason nobody trusted anybody unless they could get something they wanted out of it. It was just a simple matter of having, or acquiring that thing, through any means necessary. 

And for those that weren’t squirmish , there were bots that could take things off your servos and provided you with a specialized service in return. For others, this was simply something to pass the time. No matter the reason these, service' s were always highly illegal , and would get shut down in a nanoclick if found out by  anyone of higher authority. But none the less they went on, local police content to turn their heads and deny ever hearing rumors of one just around the corner.

For Chop Shop, they operated their business for the latter reasons. They could make themselves a tidy fortune purely in heists, but could never resist the allure of pulling apart another's armor to see what valuable parts lay hidden inside. Perhaps an unassuming frame hide an energon generator underneath, or a universal translator. And to then sell those parts they had no use of often provided a safe bet of money whenever they had to lie low to avoid the coppers. Yet normally they were left to their own devices when they got to take apart a mech (or femme) and certainly didn't appreciate another bot hovering over their shoulder. 

"He has to be  _fully _  taken apart, completely unrecognizable. Any part that can be linked back to him, destroyed, capish?" 

Chop Shop rolled their optics, observing the mech that lay on the table in front of them. Standard frame, but with bulky vehicle parts suggesting reinforced plating hidden from sight. They'd be more interested if this mobster behind them wasn't starting to rub their plating the wrong way, and their patience was quickly running out without Righty here to balance that part of them out. They could hear the mobster stepping closer, choosing to ignore him.

"I said, capish? I gotta know you can do this for us, or we might as well head on over to another guy, got it?" he threatened. The mobster didn't have a shred of patience in him, making Chop Shop want to tear those horns of his right off. "I said-"

"I got it already." Chop Shop snapped. "But we both know Thunderhoof would never let you get away with goin' to another bot, not after all the years I've done him favors and asked nothin' in return." they reminded the mobster. It was true that they did these things for free when it came to the mob boss, but they made their money back anyway selling the parts they weren't directed to destroy. Besides, it payed into itself to have a mob boss looking out for you.

The mobster frowned, shifting his weight and falling silent briefly. Chop Shop had him there and he knew it. Though he didn't look happy in the fact, not in the slightest. " Where's your sense of humor anyways?" he snapped back.

"In the back, sorting through tools." Chop Shop responded dryly, returning their gaze to the mech on the table. His color was draining too slowly, not dying fast enough. They knew the others comment hadn't been literal, but that just so happened to be what Righty added to their combined form. The other was lucky Righty  wasn't here anyway, or Chop Shop would be mocking him nonstop .

"Who is this anyways?" Chop Shop asked. "Or am I not allowed to know?" 

"I, um..." the mobster began, tensing immediately, giving away that he didn't know in the slightest. It didn't matter, or nobody had thought to tell him. Either way, he could get in big trouble for saying the wrong thing. And Thunderhoofwasn't one to forgive mistakes easily. 

Chop Shop observed the mech for clues, his fading colors making it hard to spot any special markings. They re-calibrated their optics, observing the markings around his autobot symbol . There seemed to have been lines coming off of it once, almost in the shape of a wing. A smirk spread across their faceplate as they  recognized the mech as being one of those coppers that worked directly under the high council. Once they pumped some color back into that piece, did a little polishing, the symbol would be worth a small fortune in itself, a large one should they get the data printing within it to work after being removed.

"You know what, I don't care who this bot is. Just get  _out _ so I can  _work_." Chop Shop snapped, smashing  Leftys fist on the table and faking anger to get the mobster to leave. The sound of the bot retreating and leaving the room sent another smirk across their faceplate, followed by a call to Righty to get back in here.   


They heard something metal echo from the back room - Righty must have dropped a pipe or something, followed by the little ant scurrying back into the room. Righty jumped onto the table and then at Chop Shop, easily recombining with the rest of themselves. It was hard to describe what it was like going from four to five, the best Chop Shop could manage was that a piece of his mindsuddenly snapping back online.

Once they were all  together Chop Shop laughed, cracking his knuckles. Thunderhoof would  _never_  let them sell a piece so risky, but then again they'd never been told not to. Besides, what were the chances that those stupid coppers would trace the piece back to his particular chop shop?


End file.
